| more about bookhling: | Just a little bookhling digging through the city of dreaming books.
When I read, it's as if the soles of the letters brush past my body like strands of wind, its inexplicable sensation differing in the infinite gradient of each words and phrases. It's a real shame that interest in reading doesn't always reflect ability in writing :)
I love reading, of course. It doesn't even need to be a book. Restaurant pamphlets, nutrient tags, random notes jotted down on practically anything from historical monuments to graffitties. Sometimes I take a whole day off and spend it at the Metropolitan museum of art. Not that I have any profound understanding of the art, I just love walking through that place, calmly observing people and things while breathing in the allure of civilizations of search for aesthetic lucidity. Recently I've taken interest in Auguste Rodin's and Jasper Johns' works.
Maybe someday I can learn to write upon this world itself using languages never spoken or written down before. For that day, I continue to educate myself at every opportunity open to me, with anyone willing to speak their mind. |
